


Doctor's orders

by writtenweapons



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenweapons/pseuds/writtenweapons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s the sound of another glass being poured and Juice holds out his own glass, waiting for a refill. He’ll be drunk in no time, not that Juice gives a shit, ‘cause he’s had a bullet extracted from his ass today for fuck’s sake and he feels he deserves a reward. Besides, if he has to sit here and take Chibs’ teasing, he’s pretty damn sure he’s gonna need at least half the bottle."</p><p>Juice catches a bullet in his left asscheek during a run. Chibs comes by to check on him later, because he knows how bored Juice can get when he's injured. He takes away Juice's ache in more ways than just the one. ChibsxJuice</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor's orders

**Author's Note:**

> My love for Chibs and Juice powered me through the struggle I had with this thing. Satisfied now though. Enjoy, C&C welcome.

It’s not the first time one of their missions fails and they have to retreat back to the clubhouse with their tails between their legs. The bullet lodged in Juice’s left butt cheek is a whole new thing, though. He can’t ride, obviously, so he’s stuffed in the back of the van while a prospect rides his bike back to the clubhouse. He doesn’t even give a shit about the fucking bullet right now, he just wants his bike back in one piece, and if Half-Sack even gets a scratch on his girl he’ll kick the shit out of him. He stops threatening the poor kid when the van makes an intentionally sharp turn that makes his insides lurch. Juice conceives that as a silent order to shut the fuck up.

Juice is glad when the van finally stops because Tig’s road rage adds a proverbial pain in the ass next to the literal one. He’s half dragged, half carried inside and unceremoniously dumped face down on Chibs’ makeshift operating table, his cheek mashed up against the board.

“Jesus, kid. Didn’t think you’d be that heavy. What the fuck do you eat?” Tig’s disembodied voice sounds from somewhere above him.

Juice is too angry and too nauseous to think of a good comeback. “ _Fuck you_ , you’re a shit driver.”

There’s the joined laugh of both Chibs and Tig and one of the sadistic fucks jabs smacks his mangled asscheek.

“At least I got you outta there in time, right?” Tig appears in his vision, crouching down to his level, and Juice glowers at him. Tig just smirks. “Chin up, buttercup. Chibs’ll sew you right up. He did a really good job on me too that one time I got a _chunk bitten out of my ass.”_

 _Oh, right_. The guard dog incident. So Tig’s schadenfreude is understandable, but Juice would still like to punch the smirk off his face because it’s _not fucking funny_.

Juice snorts. “That’s _real_ comforting, Tig.”

“Poetic fucking justice, kid.” Tig says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You got him, Chibs?”

“’Course.” Chibs confirms. Tig disappears from his vision, another clap of a hand on a leather cut, Chibs’ this time, and the door closes. Juice can hear the snap of rubber gloves, and he props himself up on his elbows to look over his shoulder. Chibs looks back at him over the edge of the glasses he always wears when he’d operating. Juice can’t help but think he looks good, even better with the glasses. He stares a bit too long, and Chibs notices because there is something about his smirk that does something weird to Juice’s stomach. Juice looks away, nervously tapping an annoying rhythm on the edge of the table with his nails.

There’s silence for a moment while Chibs disinfects his tools and Juice shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re not gonna _accidentally,”_ Juice draws quotes in the air with his index and middle fingers, “slip a finger up my ass, are you?” Juice almost hopes Chibs says yes, because that would make this whole procedure a lot more enjoyable. Fuck, why does he even think about this now?

Blood loss. Must be blood loss.

“No.” Chibs responds, snipping away a neat square of denim from the seat of his jeans. “Unless you want me to.”

The sting of disinfectant prevents Juice from saying anything other than a disjointed string of profanities.

“ _For fuck’s sake_ , Juice, stop squirming.”

“You’re _really_ enjoying this, aren’t you?” Juice moans. He could have dealt with it if the bullet had been in any other part of his body. Having another man poke and prod at his ass (and not in the good way) just seems demeaning and he has the feeling Chibs is liking this a lot more than he should.

“Not as much as Tig.” Chibs answers and Juice can hear the rattle of equipment, two fingers pulling the skin on his buttocks taut. “Hold still, or the wrong part of your arse will be numb for two hours and I’m not gonna waste any more anesthetic on you.”

Juice grits his teeth when the needle enters his flesh, digging his fingers into the side of the table. Shit fucking _hurts_ , but the numbness spreads quickly and he thanks science for local anesthetics. He whistles between his teeth and relaxes, for as far as that’s possible when getting a bullet retrieved from your ass.

* * *

Juice flinches when he sits down on his couch later that evening. He’s stitched up and doctor’s advice is Tylenol, sweatpants, and a minimal level of activity. Not that he can do much, anyways. He hates being useless, he has way too much energy to sit at home and live on a diet of painkillers, porn and videogames – but it looks like that will be his life for a while. At least for the next couple of days.

Juice lights the forgotten blunt he’d tucked behind his ear and takes a deep drag. The weed makes him mellow and horny, and he has time to kill anyways, so he slips a hand inside his pants and strokes his half-hard cock through his boxers. He closes his eyes, leans his head back against the couch and thinks of Chibs. He knows it’s pointless to fantasize about him, ‘cause as far as he knows Chibs is not interested and they’re just good friends in that fucked up kind of way where it’s all insults and _bromance_ but it’s just that– a fantasy – and he’s allowed to have fantasies, right?

The doorbell rings and Juice groans, taking his hand out of his pants and sloppily pulling the waistband over his hips. He opens the door, a little pissy that’s he’s being disturbed at the worst possible moment, and then he looks right into the face of Chibs. He’s leaning against the doorframe, sunglasses in his hair and his cut draped over his shoulder, the picture of nonchalance. Juice feels his cock throb because _fuck_ if Chibs doesn’t look good, and he adjusts himself before he opens the door wider.

“Hey.” Juice says, a bit breathlessly, hoping desperately that the blood returns to his brains real soon because right now he can’t think for shit.

“Thought I’d come check on you.” Chibs doesn’t wait to be invited in, ducking under Juice’s arm and into the living room. “How’s the arse?”

“Fine, I guess.” Juice answers, dumbly watching Chibs drop his backpack on the floor. Something about the bag and the way Chibs makes himself right at home tells Juice this isn’t just a check-up. “Hey, you, uh, want a drink?”

Chibs fishes a bottle of scotch from the backpack in response. _Okay,_ Juice thinks and now he’s certain Chibs is here to stay, at least for the night. They’d done this before, just getting drunk together and talking about anything and nothing at all. It usually ended up with the both of them too shitfaced to even stand up without falling over, so Chibs usually crashes on his couch.

“C’mere. Let me check.” Chibs says, and it looks and sounds like an order with that open-palmed gesture, so Juice hobbles over.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of my ass today?” Juice teases.

Chibs looks up at him, his smirk only complementing his scars. “I never get tired of lookin’ at your arse, Juice.” The problem with Chibs is that Juice never knows with these kind of comments whether he’s joking or not. Sure, they flirt, but that’s just banter. Chibs has never really, _truly_ hit on him. Still, Juice flushes at the Scotsman’s grin. “Turn around.”

Juice turns and before he can do it himself his sweatpants are yanked down to his knees, along with his boxers. It’s unexpected and he’s just glad he’s turned around because his little fantasy keeps replaying in his blood-deprived brain. The gauze is peeled back and Chibs’ fingers are cold on his skin when he inspects the sutures.

“Might scar, but you’ll live.” Juice can hear behind him. Chibs’ fingers linger a bit too long, long after he’s replaced the gauze on the wound, and Juice looks over his shoulder, wondering what the fuck is taking so long. When Chibs looks up there’s a flicker of something Juice can’t really place in his eyes, but then it’s gone again and Juice is pretty sure he’s imagined it.

Chibs stands up and there’s some rummaging in his kitchen while he searches for glasses, and when he returns he pours the two of them a generous helping of Johnnie Walker. Juice is a lightweight when it comes to hard liquor – sure, he can handle his beer, but he’s not really a heavy drinker. He remembers, or rather _doesn’t_ remember the last time he drank too much vodka and projectile vomited pretty much everywhere. Chibs has had to drag him to his bed more than once.

“So, uh..” Juice pauses when the glass is pushed into his hands and clinks the rims together, mumbling a quick ‘thanks, cheers’ before continuing his original line of thought. “You crashin’ here then?”

Chibs takes a long sip, downing half of his scotch in one swallow. “Aye. Thought I’d keep you company.” He leans back, one arm wrapping loosely around Juice’s shoulders, his free hand twirling his glass by the rim. “Knowin’ you, you’d probably jus’ smoke and wank off all day.”

Juice nearly chokes on his own mouthful of scotch.

“Yeah,” He laughs uncomfortably, because that’s _exactly_ what he’s been doing, and Chibs fucking _knows_. He tries to wash away the discomfort with the rest of his scotch but it burns in his throat and Juice can’t stop himself from pulling a face.

“Jesus, I’m just _jokin’_ , Juice. I’m sure you have other shit to do.” Chibs chuckles. For some reason, Juice isn’t fully convinced about the I’m-just-joking part. “Just thought you might appreciate my company.”

There’s the sound of another glass being poured and Juice holds out his own glass, waiting for a refill. He’ll be drunk in no time, not that Juice gives a shit, ‘cause he’s had a bullet extracted from his ass today for fuck’s sake and he feels he deserves a reward.

Besides, if he has to sit here and take Chibs’ teasing, he’s pretty damn sure he’s gonna need at least half the bottle.

* * *

It’s two am and Juice is pretty drunk. He’s also pretty relaxed, with his legs in Chibs’ lap, a blunt between his lips, and his ache reduced to a dull throb. They’d spent some time talking and drinking, just shooting the shit and insulting each other and it feels _kind of_ normal. There’s still something about the way Chibs looks at him tonight that sets him on edge though. There’s something different, like there is an unspoken mutual agreement that whatever happens, happens. Juice figures he might as well enjoy the ride.

Chibs downs the last of the scotch and leans back, arms splayed wide against the backrest of the couch. “Y’know,” He starts, turning the glass around in his fingers, “It’s a damn shame about your arse. The scar, I mean.”

Juice laughs, but it comes out as more of a giggle and he feels like a fucking twelve year old girl when he passes the blunt over to Chibs. “Why? You like my ass?”

“Aye. Sure do. Along with the rest of you, ‘course.”

Juice is drunk enough to take a chance. A very stupid fucking chance, but at least the alcohol gives him an alibi to act like a drunk sorority girl. He could always chalk it up to the combination of drugs floating around in his blood right now.

“You know, you were right.” He says. Chibs stops swirling the glass in his hand, lifts his brows, and looks at Juice. Juice continues, drawing his shoulders up in a shrug. “About the whole jacking off thing. I was, before you came along.”

Chibs doesn’t look surprised, but it gets his attention. He puts down the empty glass on the table, next to Juice’s, and snags the blunt out of Juice’s hands.

“And?”

“Wanna know who I think of?”

“I think I do.” Chibs leans back, and takes a hit of the blunt. He’s still watching Juice, tapping an impatient rhythm on the armrest of the couch. There’s a hint of something in his eyes, and Juice almost want to pounce him right then and there but he takes his time answering, and just when Chibs is about to tell him to hurry the fuck up he answers.

“You. I imagine you,” Juice’s voice is low and throaty, and he moves a bit closer. “Fucking me on every surface available.”

“ _Jesus_ , Juice.” Chibs groans, and Juice is pretty sure he can see it play out in his head too, because the Scotsman’s eyes darken and he looks downright fucking predatory when he looks at Juice.

Juice isn’t done yet. He leans in close, his lips at Chibs’ ear and he purrs more than whispers the next part of his fantasy. “And then you come all over my fucking face and watch me finish myself, because you _love_ watching me jerk off.”

“You’re playin’ with fire here, lad.” It’s a warning Juice isn’t planning to heed, but he shrugs and backs off. He’s good at playing the hot-and-cold game.

“Hey, you wanted to know.” He stands up, takes the empty glasses, and limps over to the kitchen. “I’m going to bed. ‘Night.”

There’s footsteps behind him, just as he expected. What he doesn’t expect is that Chibs presses him against the wall, the glasses slipping from Juice’s hands and bouncing away on the linoleum. With Chibs’ groin pressed flush against his own and his hands planted against the wall on either sides of his head, it’s really fucking hard to think.

“I warned you.” Chibs growls in his ear, sending a shiver up Juice’s spine. “Can’t just expect me not to do anythin’, Juice.”

Juice bites down hard on his bottom lip when Chibs rolls his hips forward, grinding his denim clad erection against Juice’s own. It feels good, really fucking good and Juice almost can’t believe this is happening. As soon as Chibs nips at his neck he’s just gone. There’s no hesitation when he gyrates his hips right the fuck back ‘cause he needs more friction and he needs it fucking _now_.

“So punish me.”

Chibs laughs, low and dark, and loosens his belt buckle, indulging Juice in his wish when he orders him to get down on his knees. Juice does as he’s told, impatiently ripping the belt away from Chibs’ jeans and tossing it in a corner of the room. He makes quick work of the button and fly, too impatient to pull Chibs’ jeans off completely so he just tugs them down to his thighs. Juice presses his mouth against the cotton of his briefs, sucking at the side of Chibs’ cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. Chibs moans in a way that sends the blood straight to his dick and he’s _really_ fucking hard now and he feels like he _really_ needs to suck Chibs off right now.

There’s a grunt above him when he clumsily pulls down Chibs’ briefs. The term _taking the lord’s name in vain_ takes on a whole new meaning when Juice swallows his dick as far as he can handle. It’s a challenge, because Chibs isn’t small by any means, but it’s worth it because Juice could have come right then and there. He doesn’t, but he can’t help slipping his hand down his pants, squeezing his painfully hard dick through his boxers.

There’s a hand on the top of his head that forcefully guides him even further down the length of Chibs’ cock and Juice has to stop because his eyes start to water.

“Didn’t say you could do that, lad.”

Juice whines around his dick but he takes his hand out of his pants anyways, because this is punishment after all and not some gentle boring vanilla shit. He minds his teeth when he sucks Chibs’ cock, and something about Juice’s careful movements tells Chibs that this isn’t the first time he’s given someone a blowjob. Chibs guides Juice’s head even though he really doesn’t have to, and when Juice swirls his tongue around the head of his dick he throws his head back into his neck, because _fuck_ , Juice isn’t the only one who’s imagined this a thousand times before.

“Get up.” Chibs orders suddenly and Juice takes his dick out of his mouth with a perverse pop. Juice slides up against the wall, watches him behind half-lidded bedroom eyes and fuck if that doesn’t turn Chibs on. He can’t resist, he reaches out to thumb Juice’s bottom lip because it looks so fucking pretty all swollen and wet.

Juice almost buckles when his sweatpants are pulled down along with his underwear and Chibs takes the both of them in one hand, jerking them off with slow strokes, slicked with saliva and precome. He buries his face in the crook of Chibs’ neck and tries to keeps his hips still but they have a mind of their own and Juice bucks up with every stroke, his brain turning into mush.

“Shit, Chibs – “

“Aye?” Chibs hums, squeezes their dicks hard and it’s like an electric jolt runs through Juice’s body.

“I’m close.”

Chibs increases the pace, his own dick begging for release when he hears Juice’s breath hitch in his throat. Juice is the first to come, dragging his teeth along Chibs’ neck and moaning into his shirt, fucking up his black wifebeater with come in the process. It doesn’t take long for Chibs to follow because he’s aching by now and the twitch in Juice’s dick when he comes just pushes him over the edge. For a while, the only sound that echoes of the walls is their joined panting and when Juice’s legs begin to shake from the release and the effort to stay upright he pulls off his shirt and cleans the both of them up. Chibs watches him, pulling up his jeans and buckling his belt. His eyes linger on the V of Juice’s pelvis and _goddamn,_ he’s ready for round two already.

“Juice.”

Juice looks up, wiping his hands with the t-shirt and tucking himself back into his boxers. “Yeah?”

“I’m not done with you yet. Any more fantasies I should know of?” Chibs leans against the back of the sofa, digging around in his cut for cigarettes.

“Only one way to find out.” Juice grins, tosses the shirt over the couch and makes his way to the bedroom. Chibs follows, because the post-coital cigarette can wait.

Oh, yeah. Juice has _lots_ of them.

 


End file.
